


Together at last

by Sherlock1110



Series: Together Forever [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Big Brother Mycroft, Brotherly Love, Cane, Cuddling, Dom John, Dom Mycroft, Dom/sub, Dominance, Handcuffs, Kneeling, M/M, Safewords, Sub Gregory, Sub Sherlock, Submission, post season two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did John and Sherlock get to where they are in 'Together Forever'<br/>A prequel into how their relationship was established after Sherlock's 2 years away</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is at last, I had a request for a prequel a while back and promised as soon as the exams were over!
> 
> thanks to the brilliant sherlockian4evr as normal for being my beta! who also keeps me sane!

“Who is this?”

“Mr. Holmes needs you.”

“Anthea? Well tell Mr. Holmes I don’t care. I’m busy.” John wasn’t busy. He’s had a few appointments but they had all been dealt with over the phone. The day had been incredibly dull and consisted of mainly catching up on paperwork. Sarah had long since told him to go on a break, he just couldn’t be bothered, he didn’t know why but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with Mycroft either.

“It is important. He’s at the club.”

“Yeah, well, Mycroft can’t control the whole world no matter how hard he tries. Tell him I’ll ring him when I’m done here.”

“Not that Mr. Holmes.”

John’s breath caught and his phone slipped from his grasp, it almost felt like slow motion as it bounced off the desk and onto the floor.

“Doctor Watson?”

He quickly scrambled for his phone at the distant voice, knocking all his papers off the desk in the process.

“Yes, Anthea. I’m on my way.”

He slipped his phone in his pocket, grabbed his jacket and raced from the room.

“Sarah, I’ve gotta go.”

“John? What’s so important?”

“It’s Sherlock.”

She looked mildly surprised but nodded. “Okay, take as long as you need. We’re not exactly rushed off our feet.”

“Makes a change. Thanks Sarah.”

***

John had to take a total of 9 deep breaths before he could even contemplate climbing the stairs to Mycroft’s office. 2 years!

He had charged out of the surgery not 20 minutes ago, pushed some teenager out of the way to get to the cab which the lad had hailed and said to the driver he would pay him double if he speeded the whole way there.

But now he was nervous, about what he didn’t know, but he definitely was.

Beyond the door he could hear Sherlock’s deep voice yelling at Mycroft about being beaten to a pulp, what was all that about? Bracing himself he pushed the door open without knocking and stepped in, it was a matter of 1.74 seconds before John had his arms of grinning detective. He chuckled, gripping Sherlock back and holding on to him as tight as he could. He never wanted to let go, he never would let him go, not ever again. He held him tight, tighter and tighter until Mycroft ruined the only thing both of them clearly wanted right then and cleared his throat. As they slowly separated John realised he should probably be mad with the younger man and slapped him. Hard.

The darker haired man brought his hand up to rub it, a look of utter confusion on his face.

“What was that for?” Sherlock sound different… almost… well, if John didn’t know any better he would say nervous.

“You left me!”

“I had to.”

“You could have said something!”

“I couldn’t,” he responded quietly, sadly. “Moriarty was many things including thorough. It would have given the whole thing away. And then you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson would be dead.”

John raised an eyebrow and was soon embraced once again by the taller man, “God I’ve missed you,” Sherlock whispered, “and anyway I knew you obtained a level of intelligence above average and therefore would be able to work it out.”

“Yes, no thanks to Mycroft.”

“I told him not to say anything.”

This time John slapped his other cheek. “What did I do this time?” he exclaimed. John held up a hand to hold Mycroft back, he did not need the older man’s interference right now.

“Why on earth would you tell him not to say anything to me?” he demanded as Sherlock went back to rubbing his cheek. The detective pouted, if it wasn’t for the circumstances John would have found it adorable, instead he found it infuriating, god he was such a child!

“You would never have believed it coming from Mycroft, you had to find fault yourself and dig it up in order to believe it. And if I am not mistaken you had help.”

“Not from him,” he growled glancing at Mycroft who stood twiddling his umbrella as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, and for once not doing a very good job at hiding the fact that he was listening in intently into what the detective was saying. “From Greg,” he added, as if that wasn’t obvious.

Sherlock smiled. “You know, I think I might surprise him.”

“Surprise him?”

“Just promise me you won’t tell him I’m back.”

“Ok. But you have to let him know by the end of the day or I will.”

“When you two are quite finished,” Mycroft finally interrupted. “A rather cute little domestic but Sherlock you have a case to attend to.”

“I’ve been back 6 hours Mycroft, give me a break.”

“And the terrorist threat is imminent, little brother.”

Sherlock smiled dramatically and took John’s hand in his which earned him a raised eyebrow from the doctor before he squeezed it.

“Where is it?” he asked of his brother.

“Where is what?” the government official responded innocently.

“You know what.”

John laughed when Anthea appeared at the door with Sherlock’s beloved Belstaff. The PA moved to help Sherlock with it but John took it from her and helped the detective into it himself. He could see that Sherlock’s shoulders were stiff but pushed his doctoring instinct away and decided he could deal with that when they were back at 221B, for now he was just going to revel in the fact that he was actually back. And anyway, he was 100% sure that Mycroft’s goons would have to have an extremely high medical talent in order to get near his little brother let alone patch him up.

When he reached around his neck and pulled the collar up for him, Sherlock grinned.

“Welcome back, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock nodded. “It’s good to be back.” He took a step away from the army man, pushed his hands into his coat pockets and twirled on the spot, his coat flailing out behind him as he spun. “How do I look?”

His answer was John grabbing him by said coat and kissing him senseless, the lack of rejection on Sherlock’s part was enough to make the doctor deepen the kiss further.

When they finally separated, to find Mycroft conveniently looking in the other direction, and both as surprised as each other that they hadn’t been interrupted by the older Holmes, Sherlock asked, “Does this mean we’re in a relationship now?”

“Apparently so.”

Mycroft huffed behind them, fed up with being ignored, reminding John very much of Sherlock when he was about to have a tantrum. “Gentlemen, as Sherlock so kindly pointed out not 10 minutes ago, he has only just got back, are you sure embarking on a relationship at this point is a good idea?”

When both looked at him and snapped ‘Yes’ simultaneously he knew they were right. He would never admit it, but this was the best possible thing for Sherlock at this stage, just going on his pacing before the Dom had arrived, he just had to be seen to argue it.

“If I can look into your underground network I can _embark_ on a relationship.”

“I’ve been waiting 2 years for this, nobody is going to make me wait any longer.”

“Right, well, the car is at the front waiting to take you both to Baker Street. I will see you in a few days Sherlock, Doctor Watson.”

“Right,” said John taking the detective’s pale hand in his again and tugging him gently towards the door. In the car Sherlock reached over to John, smiling softly, he placed one hand on his leg and slipped the other beneath his coat to his inside jacket pocket to find his phone.

“Sherlock? What are you up to?”

“Shh.” He leaned over and kissed him whilst thumbing out a text to his brother at the same time.

_What time does Lestrade finish work? SH_

The reply was instantaneous. _How would I know? MH_

_You always know._

_9.30, his car is in the underground carpark opposite the Yard._ Then a few moments later; _Go gentle._

“Does Mrs Hudson know?” Sherlock asked, seeing that John had been following the conversation with his brother over his shoulder.

“Ah, we thought it best not. You know how she likes to chat with her sister. I was under the impression you wanted it kept quiet?” he laughed softly.

“Good point.”

“So how exactly is this going to work?”

John shrugged and rested his head on Sherlock’s arm. “You’re the genius.”

“You’re not that bad yourself.”

John eyed him suspiciously. “Was that a compliment?”

“I…” Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. “I guess it was. Yes. Have you got a problem with that?”

The doctor’s head tilted on one side. “You might find out when we get home.”

When they reached Baker Street, John unlocked the door, it appeared they would need to get a new key cut as Sherlock had ‘misplaced’ his. Sherlock went straight to 221A and knocked on the door. John stood behind him leaning against the front door.

“You know, it’s a good job Mrs. H is away, Sherlock. You would have given her a heart attack.”

“What? Why?”

“You would have scared the shit out of her. Maybe, you could be a bit more tactful for the actual reunion. Eh?”

Sherlock smiled. “When’s she back?”

“Later this evening, I believe.”

“Ah… good. I have missed her biscuits.”

John took his hand and led him towards the stairs. “Do you require assistance with your coat?” John asked, not trying to hide the sarcasm.

Sherlock laughed. “You sound like Anthea.”

The doctor helped the detective to ease his coat off sore shoulders.

“I’ll stick the kettle on.”

Sherlock nodded and went through to the sitting room so he could collapse in the armchair – _his_ armchair. He looked around, taking the room in and relishing in being home. Nothing had changed, even his skull was still on the mantelpiece, God knows how John had convinced their landlady to leave it there, without being able to mention the fact that Sherlock would one day return and either shoot the wall or talk to the skull.

John appeared from the kitchen and slowly walked over to the sitting man as he collapsed onto his lap.

Sherlock hissed.

“I was under the impression it was only your upper body which suffered from Serbia.”

“You are under the right impression.”

“Then you hissed because I’m too heavy?”

“’Course not,” Sherlock complained. “Just got a bony arse that’s all.”

The doctor patted his leg and jumped up, “take your shirt off.”

“John… I… I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“There’s some… scars. They may or may not be permanent.”

“Take your shirt off, Sherlock.” This time it was said as more of an order.

Ducking his head, the detective began to unbutton the pale shirt before allowing John to slip it over his shoulders.

The detective didn’t miss the doctor’s gasp.

John couldn’t hold it in, his lover’s body was scattered in different coloured bruises, some fading to a dull yellow, others purple. They clearly outlined where he had been on the receiving end of some rather unpleasant objects in the recent past.

Sherlock felt John tense at the sight of him. “I know,” he said softly aware that John was probably angry with him.

Sensing the detective’s no doubt wrong assumption, John hastened to reassure him. “I’m not angry at you, Sherlock,” the doctor said remarkably calmly. “But who did this to you.”

“If it is any consolation I believe my brother dealt with them. Serbian prison is harder to deal with than the British.”

John cracked a smile at that. “Why don’t you go and hop into the bath, relax a bit. I’ll stick some tea in the pot and come join you.”

Sherlock nodded, and John helped him to his feet meeting his lips for a brief kiss first.


	2. Hellos and Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes looking for his 'crew'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta --> Sherlockian4evr as per usual!

“Those things will kill you.”

Greg froze; almost dropping the lighter in his hand. He turned to search the distance as he computed what he’s just heard – no who he had just heard.

“Oh, you bastard.”

Hands deep in his pockets Sherlock walked out of the shadows towards where the Inspector stood. Greg just stared at him firstly proving to himself he was really there, and then deciding whether to hug him or hit him.

“It’s time to come back. You’ve been letting things slide, Graham.” Sherlock used the name deliberately; it wasn’t enough to appear out of nowhere, he had to tease him too.

“Greg!”

“Greg? Are you sure?”

The urge to hit him got stronger, but judging by the slight bruise to his cheek, evident in the carpark lighting, someone had gotten there before him, the most likely candidate was John.

Before Sherlock was aware of what was happening, Greg pulled himself up to his full height and grabbed hold of Sherlock behind the neck, the detective winced as he tightened his grip but he didn’t push Greg off, which surprised them both.

“Judging by your face John’s got to you.”

Sherlock’s mouth twisted up into a smile. “Yes. Twice.”

“You just let me hug you,” Greg pointed out.

Sherlock didn’t stop the eye roll. “Still pointing out the obvious, Gavin. No wonder New Scotland Yard never gets anywhere.” He winked.

The DI just sighed. In all honesty he’d missed Sherlock’s arrogance and snide remarks.

“Has John told you then? He’s been waiting long enough.”

“Ooh yes. Snogged me in fact.”

“Snogged? Is snogged a word you use these days? Wow, things really have changed.”

“How are you getting on with my brother?”

Greg snorted, looking away, then turned back sharply. “I hit him.”

Sherlock laughed. Greg smiled. He very rarely heard the detective laugh and after two years it felt like an age.

“Good man. Did you get him hard?”

“He fell into his seat.” Greg remembered it clear as day, as it was just under two years ago.

Sherlock paused a moment. “Why?”

“Because he never told me. Or John.”

“Ah… Um…”

“Sherlock?”

The detective turned to leave. “Bye, Greg.”

“No!” Greg grabbed his arm and spun him round. Sherlock grimaced, the bruises on his arms were nothing compared to everywhere else, but they were still rather painful.

“Look, John’s already hit me. Twice.”

“Yes…”

“I told Mycroft not to tell you.”

“Sherlock…” Greg’s growl was almost feral, as his fist clenched.

“Like I said. Bye!” He ran before Greg could clobber him too.

***

“You told him?”

“Yes, and I popped into Barts to see Molly.”

“To see Molly? Not to tell her?”

“Ah… Molly knew. She had to. She had to provide the body.”

John nodded. “Right. You will tell me everything but right now… Did he hit you?”

“No…”

“Sherlock?”

“He attempted it. I ran before he could finish his swing.”

“He’ll get you.”

Sherlock inclined his head. “Of that, I have no doubt. But there are more important things.”

“Ah, the terrorist threat Mycroft was so keen on dragging you into.”

“Mycroft’s always dragging me into one thing or another. That’s what Mycroft does. But yes.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“We,” he countered.

John’s smile spread even wider, changing into a large grin. “What are _we_ doing about it? Have you any idea how much I’ve missed you?” John asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“No. But I can guess.”

John took his hand and pulled him down onto the sofa. The doctor pushed him down so he was laying on his back and then straddled him. Sherlock struggled briefly but John grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head against the armrest.

“Still want to struggle?”

“I need to plant some markers so to speak,” he chose now to continue with his ideas... “When one of them moves, we’ll know. Then we can act.”

“Well, that can wait.” He wiggled slightly and could feel Sherlock’s hard length beneath his own.

“Try telling the terrorist network that, John.”

The doctor smiled. “It can’t be that urgent that we can’t have a bit of fun first.” John unbuckled his trousers and felt his cock. Sherlock flinched.

John glanced up at him concern. Panic was flying across his face, being chased by anger and then worry.

“What is it, love? Did I hurt you?”

Sherlock shook his head and pulled out from under John. The doctor let him go. He didn’t want to corner the detective; something obviously worried him. Oh. How could he have been so stupid?

“Sherlock did they…”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He pulled out of the comforting hand John had laid on his shoulder and ran to his bedroom. The door slammed with a jolt and John was glad Mrs. Hudson was away because this was likely to take a while and Sherlock was likely to make a lot of noise.

***

John gave his lover a few minutes alone. Well, he had originally intended on it being a few minutes but instead it had been over an hour. He couldn’t bring himself to open the door. He’s lost count the amount of times he had stood to go in and see him, but it didn’t seem right. At half 10 he opened the door to find his detective curled up in a ball on his side, fast asleep.

Sighing to himself he undressed and climbed into bed beside him. He didn’t want to wake him, but he didn’t want him to wake up alone either. They hadn’t spoken about sleeping arrangements, but John didn’t want to sleep upstairs anymore. Sherlock was more than likely to wake up with bad dreams and John knew from experience what it was like waking alone to nightmares.

John hadn’t been wrong. At about 4:30am the doctor was awoken by a thrashing detective beside him. He’s got tangled up in his sheet and was panicking. Thinking on his feet, John quickly found his wrists, grabbing them to stop him hurting himself, but Sherlock didn’t awaken. He just continued thrashing around helplessly. John had a choice, leave him to wake up on his own, or restrain him to stop him from hurting either of them. He would likely make him panic further, but that wasn’t worse than the alternative and at least he was more likely to wake up. John’s options flew through his head at 100 miles an hour and he quickly made a decision. He kicked off the sheet that Sherlock was still wrapped up in and straddled his hips. He shuffled down a bit so he was sat over his thighs to stop his legs from kicking out, but made sure not to put any pressure on his bruised legs and rest on his knees. He pinned the younger man’s hands above his head and leant forward to kiss him. Sherlock froze beneath him but he didn’t wake up.

“Sherlock? Sherlock it’s me, John. You’re not wherever you think you are. You’re in Baker Street, remember? You came back. You came home.” John continued to whisper to him, trying to get his consciousness to recognise familiarity but nothing actually happened until John blew softly in his ear. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.

Throughout the whole thing John realised that he hadn’t made a noise, not so much as a squeak. He still murmured encouragingly into his ear until he began to wiggle and John released his grip slowly.

“You back with me?”

Sherlock’s eyes were wide as he nodded dumbly.

“Do you know where you are?”

He nodded again.

“Where?” John whispered.

“Baker Street. In bed. Why are you here?”

Things really must have been different. If Sherlock had answered a question like that 2 years ago, it would have earned John a glare and a “Don’t be obvious John”.

“You fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake you and I knew you would likely wake up during the night. I know we never spoke about what was to happen, but I’m glad I stayed here.”

“But I woke you up. Sorry,” he added as an afterthought.

“Don’t be sorry, baby.” John kissed him again. This time Sherlock participated. “Like I said, I’m glad I’m here. And I’m never going to not sleep with you because you have nightmares. The chances are, I will wake you too. Would you mind?”

“No. Of course not,” he said as if it was obviously.

“Point proven.” John still sat above him and ran his hand through his sweaty curls, brushing them away. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

He shook his head. “Do you?”

“No. Come on, let’s go and get some tea.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly 5-ish, it’s starting to get light. What did you dream about?”

Sherlock looked away and John thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he was wrong. “The first time it happened.”

The doctor didn’t need to ask what ‘it’ was. After their conversation last night he was well aware.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

Sherlock looked relieved and offered a small smile.

“But answer me one thing… You didn’t make a sound. Why not?”

“The first time I got caught, was because of being too loud. I realised early on that staying quiet when asleep was a good trait to have when everyone thought I was dead and I was trying to remain hidden.”

“My clever genius.”

“I wish you could have come with me.”

“Me too. I would have kept you safe.”

“I know.”

John held his hand out as he rose from the bed, careful not to knock the younger man as he did so.

“You can eat a big breakfast though.”

Sherlock smiled again. “Of course.”

***

“John dear, I’ve got you some more of that-” Mrs. Hudson froze in the doorway.

“Mrs. H, wait!” John came out of the bedroom, but was too late. She’d spotted the other member of the household. The dish she had been holding fell from her grasp and shattered with a crash.

John went through the other door, to appear from the kitchen in time to see Sherlock search for the crashing sound and scramble to his feet. He had been sat there, staring distantly into nothingness, since he’d told John about some of the things that had happened when he had been away. John had wanted to continue the conversation, but knew it wouldn’t be as urgent as it would have been with anyone else. Sherlock had said he had hidden everything he didn’t want to know about in his Mind Palace, but he had also said he was likely to have glimpses of the past.

The doctor rushed to Sherlock as he involuntarily took a step back from their fuming landlady.

“She had to find out sooner or later, baby.” John reassured him.

“I know.” He looked up to the older women, “Hello Mrs. Hudson.”

She stared for a moment and then began yelling. “How could you? You let me – us believe you were dead! 2 years. 2 bloody years!”

This was bad Mrs. Hudson never cursed. Not ever.

“And you John, just letting him back. Letting him waltz right in like he’s never been away.”

She saw the guilty look that had been clouding his features fly away to be replaced by concern when he glanced at Sherlock. The detective had moved away from the window where he had been stood. He now had his knees pulled to his chest and was rocking silently.

John immediately turned his back on their landlady and knelt beside his lover. He unwrapped the younger man’s hands from the tight grip on his legs and held them in his own.

Mrs. Hudson, frozen by the door, watched cautiously at the difference in the man she had come to love as a son. He didn’t look like the arrogant man that had left, but was now a broken boy that had returned. She could also see clearly, the change between the duo now compared to 2 years ago. They had been close, very close considering the sort of man Sherlock is – was, but now the pair of them seemed to have bypassed flatmates, skipped friends and had launched themselves into something else. Something new.


	3. The way things are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft pays a visit to the flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may appear slightly similar to a certain event but it has its own twist!  
> Thanks to the usual beta, sherlockian4evr

“Where’s John?”

“Surgery.”

“But you’ve only been back a few days.”

“He’s gone to let Sarah know he might not be around for a bit.”

“Why’s he gone to tell her? Doesn’t he own a phone?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And what was his response?”

“Apparently it’s not the sort of conversation you can have over the phone. I mean, if you can talk then the phone is good enough isn’t it? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It depends what he is going to say, Sherlock, it might be delicate.”

“Delicate? They’re not dating are they?”

“I wouldn’t know, little brother, I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh give over, Mycroft, what are they really talking about?”

“You’ll find out when John returns won’t you? Now how far have you got with this case?”

“I’ve been back 2 days, give me a chance.”

“I know you, Sherlock, you’ve already set things in motion.”

***

A few minutes later found them both sat down opposite each other.

“All very interesting Sherlock but the terror alert has been raised to critical.” Mycroft appeared somewhat bored as his brother finished his explanations on the randomness of society.

Sherlock didn’t take his eyes off Mycroft as he matched his brother’s disinterest. “Boring. Your move.”

“We have solid information. An attack is coming.”

Sherlock refrained from rolling his eyes as his brother glanced down to the table.

“Solid information? A secret terrorist organisation is planning an attack – that is what secret terrorist organisations do. It’s their version of golf.”

“An agent gave his life to tell us that.”

“Oh well, perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.” Sherlock sounded coincidentally like he was showing off himself.

“None of these _markers_ of yours are behaving in any way suspiciously?”

He took his eye briefly off his detective brother to glance at the table before eyeing him again. “Your move.”

Sherlock appeared to think things through. For a change. “No Mycroft. But you have to trust me. I will find the answer.” At Mycroft’s raised eyebrow he continued. “But it’ll be in an odd phrase in an online blog or an unexpected trip to the countryside or a misplaced lonely hearts ad. Your move.”

“I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.”

“I am on the case. We’re both on the case. Look at us right now.” He nodded to the table.

Between them Mycroft dropped the tweezers as the game buzzed and flashed red.

“Oh bugger.” He never lost to his little brother. Never.

Sherlock noticed Mycroft’s predicament. “Oopsie.”

Losing his patience Mycroft crammed the little heart shaped piece back in the hole he had failed miserably at extracting it from.

“Can’t handle a broken heart? How very telling.” Sherlock smirked.

“Don’t be smart.” Mycroft sounded very much like a father talking to a small boy and Sherlock’s response did nothing to quell the awkward father-son situation.

“That takes me back.” He looked incredibly smug as he sat back in his chair and mimicked his brother’s voice. “Don’t be smart Sherlock, I’m the smart one.”

Mycroft sounded absolutely certain. “I _am_ the smart one.”

“I used to think I was an idiot.”

“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on. Until we met _other_ children.”

Smiling, Sherlock nodded in realising. “Oh yes, that was a mistake.”

“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?”

“Probably something about making friends.”

“Oh yes. Friends. Of course. You go in for that sort of thing now.”

Sherlock studied him closely and the corner of his mouth turned into a smile as he heard the downstairs door click. His whole mouth curved into a smile, knowing John was now only moments away. “And you don’t? Ever?”

“If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of gold fish.”

John cleared his throat behind Mycroft. “I am not a gold fish.”

“Not to me,” Sherlock said quietly jumping up and wrapping his arms around the older man.

“Thanks. And anyway, Sherlock isn’t slow. He is gorgeous.”

Sherlock’s blush crept up on him only to be made worse by John ignoring his brother and kissing him, much to Mycroft’s huff of annoyance.

“And how is Mary?” Mycroft asked, determined to annoy the blond man still kissing his brother.

Finally releasing Sherlock the doctor peered around him to glare at the older man.

“Who’s Mary?” Sherlock was instantly suspicious.

“Just someone at work. Why am I a goldfish anyway?”

“No reason,” Sherlock said before his brother could get a word in. “Stick the kettle on.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Sinking back into his seat Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of him and looked at his brother in a way that caused Mycroft to hide a smirk. He had most definitely missed his little brother, even with all the aggravation that came with him.

“I’ve been away for 2 years.”

“So?”

Sherlock shrugged briefly, contemplating what to say. He winked at John who appeared in the doorway of the kitchen without Mycroft noticing. “Oh, I don’t know, I thought you might have found yourself a… goldfish.”

Mycroft looked appalled at the prospect of such a thing occurring. He stood up and turned his back on his brother briefly. “Change the subject. Now.” He moved over to the fireplace.

“Or how about a Gregfish?”

Mycroft choked on thin air, but Sherlock abruptly changed the subject. “Rest assured Mycroft- whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre.”

Mrs. Hudson appeared apparently from nowhere carrying a tray of tea cups and a tea pot.

John reappeared, “I’ll turn the kettle off now shall I?”

“Sorry, John dear, but these two were sat playing games. Shouldn’t the pair of you be working or something?”

John glanced at the chess board sat miles away from the brothers and the operations game that was between them when he walked in. “I see that. Not had a productive morning, babe?”

“It was,” Sherlock grumbled. “Until my brother showed up.”

Mrs Hudson fussed around the table now littered in tea things. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. Him! Sitting in his chair again.” She looked pointedly over at the older Holmes brother. “Oh, isn’t it wonderful Mr Holmes.”

Mycroft didn’t even attempt to hide his sarcasm. “I can barely contain myself.”

“Oh he really can you know.” Sherlock snorted.

“He’s secretly please to see you underneath all that…” she trailed off as she headed towards the door as if there was so much she could say to finish that sentence but couldn’t find anything suitable.

“Sorry?” Mycroft frowned. “Which of us?”

“Both of you.”

“Let’s play something different.”

Mycroft sighed, exasperated. “Why are we playing games?”

“Well London’s terror alert has been raised to critical.” He watched his legs flail dramatically on either side of the table with the game still upon it. He sprung to his feet, full of energy. “I’m just passing the time. Let’s do deductions.”

He grabbed a woollen hat that had been abandoned on the table.

“Hang on,” John interrupted. “What?”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled at his best friend turned boyfriend and then studied the hat. “Client left this while I was out. What do you reckon?”

He tossed it across the room at his brother and took Johns hand as the doctor rested his own at the small of the detectives back.

Mycroft caught the hat. “I’m busy.”

“What do you mean don’t worry? Critical is kind of important.” He squeezed his hand but said to his brother. “Go on, it’s been an age.” He turned back to his lover. “I’ve got to wait for one of the markers to make a move otherwise there is nothing I can do.”

Meanwhile Mycroft had sniffed over the hat and looked over it briefly. He glanced up at the detective, trying to hide the smile at how comfortably his little brother was interacting with John and how intimate they were, despite Sherlock’s recent past. Mycroft doubted Sherlock would let anybody else near him. He also doubted John would allow it to happen either. Mycroft knew for a fact that he, as well as a certain DI, would never let anything happen to Sherlock again. John was leant against the table, his younger brother practically sat on his lap.

He interrupted their little moment. “I always win.”

“Which is why you can’t resist.”

John smirked, aware that the pair of them were both about to compete for who could show off the most.

“I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis…” he trailed off at his brother and his boyfriend’s knowing smiles. “Damn.”

Sherlock had to lean forward to catch the hat as it flew back towards him. “Isolated too, don’t you think?” he asked as John dropped his hand to his shoulder.

“Why would he be isolated?”

“He?” Sherlock was puzzled.

“Obviously.”

“Why? Size of the hat?”

Mycroft smiled as if he was talking to a child, well in his eyes he was. “Don’t be silly. Some women have large heads too.” Sherlock flinched and John ran his hand up his shirt. He hated being proved wrong, especially by his brother. He supposed it balanced it out as he did beat him at their little game mere moments ago. He threw the hat back but Mycroft didn’t need to double check, he knew he was right.

“No, he’s recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside.”

He scrunched up the hat this time and threw it back. John stepped in front of the detective and caught the hat one handed. His other hand had moved to his shoulder. Smirking, Sherlock glanced at the way his doctor was having a look at it.

“Some women have short hair too,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Balance of probability.”

“Not that you’ve ever spoken to a women with short hair, or you know, a women.”

Mycroft appeared to have ignored him. “Stains show that he’s out of condition and he’s sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four…” he trailed off as if he was finishing his counting.

John handed Sherlock the hat to him with a wild grin that clearly said he was about to whoop arse, probably Mycroft’s. After another quick check, Sherlock threw the hat back towards the fireplace once more. “Five times. Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds the costs of the hat, so he’s mawkishly attached to it, but it’s more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality but five? Five’s excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive.”

John plucked it back from Mycroft’s hand after watching the brothers’ banter. He loved it. “You know, I doubt the owner would like how you’re treating his hat and he left it here, Sherlock, that’s hardly obsessive compulsive.”

Both brothers stared at him in astonishment. He glanced up from his examination of the fabric in his grasp and frowned at the two pairs of eyes on him. “What?”

Sherlock laughed and even Mycroft cracked a smile.

“You’re brilliant,” Sherlock said, kissing him. John should have blushed in front of the older Holmes but somehow he didn’t care.

Sherlock took the hat from his lover and ran his hands over it again.

“The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad. In Peru.”

“Peru?”

“This is a chullo. The classic headgear of the Andes. It’s made of alpaca.”

Sherlock smirked, looking entirely pleased with himself. “No.”

“No?” Mycroft couldn’t bear the thought of his baby brother getting one over on him. Again.

“Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive, if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.”

Mrs. Hudson appeared out of nowhere yet again. “I’m sure there’s a crying need for that.”

John snickered like a schoolboy and his landlady winked at him.

After glancing at both his landlady and lover in turn, Sherlock decided he hadn’t finished with the hat and his brother.

“You said he was anxious.”

“The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he’s a man of a nervous disposition but…”

Sherlock, knowing what came next, cut across him. “But also a creature of habit because he hasn’t chewed the bobble on the right.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the word bobble, it just seemed too comical for the younger man to come out with.

“Precisely,” Mycroft agreed.

Sherlock, realising the first thing Mycroft had done was sniff it, did the same but grimaced and pulled away.

“Brief sniff-”

John interrupted. “Very brief sniff.”

“-Of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath. Brilliant.”

“Elementary.”

“But you’ve missed his isolation.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Plain as day.”

“Where?”

“There for all to see.”

“Tell me.”

“Plain as the nose on you…”

“Tell. Me.”

Sherlock spun so he was face to face with his brother again but caught John smirking.

“What?”

“It really is obvious.”

“Tell me,” Mycroft repeated, getting rather wound up at the double act.

“Anybody who wears a hat as stupid as that isn’t in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?”

Sherlock had to stop himself from laughing. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Mycroft watched them suspiciously. “Not at all. Maybe he just doesn’t mind being different. He doesn’t necessarily have to be isolated.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock said as he looked down to the hat again, knowing that if he looked up at his brother and the more than apparent confusion on his face, he would burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry?” the older man offered instead.

“He’s different. So what? Why would he mind? You’re quite right.”

He reached over and placed the hat on John’s head. “Why would anyone mind? I still love him.” He reached over and pecked him on the lips again. “See?”

Mycroft opened his mouth as if to speak but he struggled to form a word let alone a sentence. “I’m not _lonely_ , Sherlock.”

Sherlock tilted his head slightly and looked at him closely for a moment then stepped closer to him, thinking. “How would you know?”

He reached over and plucked the hat off John’s head who for some reason had left it where Sherlock had put it.

“Yes. Back to work if you don’t mind. Good morning.” Mycroft turned to leave without another word.

“Right. Back to work.” He winked at John.

The doctor grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the wall with all his notes towards the sofa. “You said you have to wait for one of the markers to make a move, so there is nothing you can do now.”

“Fair enough.”


	4. Distinguishing Factors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's been home 4 days, what's he been thinking about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

John found Sherlock in bed. He was pretending to be asleep, but John could tell he clearly wasn’t judging by the erotic breathing patterns, so he who was he trying to kid?

‘You alright Sherlock?’

He rolled over to face the wall. John sighed. He would usually just leave him. He used to do this all the time before he had been away. Back then John would have left him to sulk, but things were different now. Sherlock had been through a traumatic period. Brooding would do him no good and they were in a relationship that made things simpler.

The doctor retreated to the kitchen and pushed the switch on the kettle.

He returned to the bedroom moments later to find his detective was still on his side, but this time he held two mugs in his hands.

‘If you sit up, I have tea.’

‘Don’t want it.’

‘Don’t be boring, Sherlock.’

He rolled over as quick as lightning. That had got his attention. John smiled, using Sherlock’s ‘lines’ so to speak always got his attention.

‘Boring?! Me?’

‘Got your attention now, have I?’

He sat on the edge of the bed and handed the detective the second cup. He rested it on his hip so he had to sit up and gather it in his hands to stop it from burning himself.

‘So whats up?’ the older man asked.

‘4 days.’

‘4 days? What, the case?’

‘No, the case is dull, I know what I need to do. I’ve been back 4 days.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘Nothing’s happened.’

‘What do you mean happened? If this isn’t about the case, what is it about?’

‘You.’

‘Me?’ The doctor was more than confused now. ‘Riddles, Sherlock.’

‘You haven’t done anything… like…’

‘In light of what you told me a few days ago, why would I?’ John still cringed at what Sherlock had had to see all on his own. He doubted that was even the half of it. It was one thing to see subs mistreated and beaten for information by pig headed Doms. It was another to not be able to say anything and hide in silence. Especially being a sub himself, it would have been difficult to say the least and it wasn’t only once either. The bit that seemed to effect his detective the most was the fact that sometimes subs were hiding information on Sherlock himself when he needed to get in or out of somewhere secret to close down the next puzzle piece to Moriarty’s web.

‘Because you said we are in a relationship now and besides winding my brother up, isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?’

‘We agreed that we’re in a relationship now. But yes that obviously does happen in relationships, but that’s not all they’re about.

‘Yes, but that’s quite a distinguishing factor between flatmates and… boyfriends,’ he seemed to struggled over the word.

‘It’s not the only distinguishing factor.’ He leant forward and kissed him. As much as he loved seeing Sherlock confused, he hated seeing him distressed. ‘After what you told me about what you saw, with how subs were treated and the fact that you’re still a bit bruised and battered.’

‘I’m fine, John honestly.’

‘I know you are. Physically.’

‘We won’t do it like… me being the sub.’

‘We can’t stay like this forever.’

He dropped his head sadly. ‘I know. But can we try?’

‘Try what? No!’

‘But John-’

‘It’s too soon Sherlock. It’s not going to happen.’

‘But you-’

‘Will wait. I’ve waited 2 years I can wait a little longer. It is not the end of the world. If we rush into things it could make the future a lot more difficult than it has to be.’

‘What does that matter?’

‘It does Sherlock!’ John snapped, then took a deep breath. ‘You matter- we matter.’

The detective huffed, dumped his still half full mug of tea on the side, grabbed his coat and was gone.

 

It was a good job Sherlock hadn’t gotten into a cab, John thought as he spotted him rounding the corner, his coat flailing behind him. Even though he’d only been back a few days John knew where he was headed. There could only be one place he would go at this time of the evening and 2 years ago he would never have expected it from Sherlock, but now… why he was walking though, John didn’t know. He hailed a cab, ‘Diogenes club please.’

John was right, of course. After about half an hour where he sat chatting with Mycroft, the door to the outside office opened and the sound of the younger Holmes’ voice demanding to see Mycroft floated in. Anthea was attempting to placate him, but it sounded like a very large explosion was about to occur.

‘Would you like to step into my quarters John? I’ll bring him through when he’s finished with his shouting match.’

‘Good point. I doubt realising I’ve already beaten him to it will impress him much.’

‘Don’t worry, I completely agree with you.’

John smiled and headed next door into Mycroft’s private chambers. He was glad he’d discussed it with Mycroft even if it was a little delicate

Once John had worked out what Sherlock was up to, with the help of Greg of course, he had confronted the elder Holmes about it. Mycroft, from that point onwards had given John status updates about how well Sherlock was doing and what his progress was, so they’d found themselves getting quite close, or as close as you can get to the British Government.

As soon as the door had shut, he heard Sherlock yelling at his older brother, but what he was saying was muffled by the door. He sighed and took a seat at one of the comfortable sofas Mycroft kept in this part of his chambers. This was likely to take a while.

 

The door opened and an upset Sherlock came in a while later.

John stood up, concerned at the look on his face. ‘You alright?’

‘I didn’t mean to yell at you.’ The detective was looking mightily sorry for himself.

‘C’mere.’ John held his arm up and the younger man cannoned into him. The doctor had to take a step back to steady himself as he held Sherlock tight.

That was extremely close to an apology and he kissed the top of his lovers head as Sherlock had pushed his head down under his chin. John would have thought that would have been uncomfortable for a man of Sherlock’s height.

The door swung open again and Anthea appeared with a tray. Mycroft followed and collapsed into the sofa opposite where John had been seated before the younger Holmes’ arrival. The conversation with his brother seemed to have taken it out of him.

‘Is there anything else I can get you Mr. Holmes?’

‘Yes. Take away. Chinese?’ He glanced up at John who nodded his consent. Sherlock was still wrapped around him like an unhappy toddler. ‘Our usual Chinese order and then you can get off. Thank you, Anthea.’

‘Good night, Sir.’ She smiled at John who rolled his eyes.

‘Are you going to sit down Sherlock?’

‘No,’ he mumbled, it was nearly inaudible, he was pressed so tightly into John’s jumper.

‘Come on, babe.’

John, with obscene strength that appeared to come out of nowhere, scooped the detective up into his arms and fell back into the chair with one very young boy on his lap. He curled around and wrapped his arms around John’s neck and buried his face again.

Mycroft smiled at the show of affection. He knew it was likely his little brother would be like this when he came back, although Sherlock hadn’t said anything to him personally about what had happened, he had deduced quite a bit, especially from the areas he had had to pass through in order to destroy the web. John had also texted him a few times so they were both aware of what was happening with their favourite detective. He was going to be very affectionate after so long alone and in a strange place. John Watson had his work cut out, but glancing at them both, he knew he was more than up to the challenge.

John had been whispering into his ear for a while now as well as running his hand through his hair. It was incredibly comforting and he wondered why he hadn’t done this before with anyone else. The thought of why not made him shiver and John ‘shhed’ him quietly. Sherlock suddenly felt the urge to submit to the older man, but knew he wasn’t ready for that and it would no doubt take both john and his brother by surprise. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him and they were burning a hole in the back of his head. Moaning softly he removed himself from the crook of the doctor’s neck and looked over at Mycroft.

‘Looking a bit worn out, Myc.’

‘Do be quiet Sherlock,’ the government official said with a small smile. He reached for their mugs and passed one to John and the other to Sherlock.


	5. How it Has Got to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry everyone if you've been waiting on this, if anyone's still there that is! I've been rather distracted with other WIP's and of course the one shots!

‘You’re about to tell me this can’t be a vanilla equal relationship, aren’t you?’ Sherlock asked. He was sat on their bed, reading a book he had found from when he was a child. Apparently it was less dull than all the adult books they had laying around the house.

It had been weeks since Sherlock had run to his brother only to find John had beaten him to it. The underground network terrorist threat was no longer a threat, thanks to the dynamic duo. It was, in fact, John who worked out the relevance of the fifth of November. Once again, Sherlock was just reminded about the relevance of sentiment on occasion.

‘You know the answer to that, Sweetheart.’

Sherlock sighed and closed his book. ‘But I like it. You like it, too.’

‘I know, but you know how things are, Sherlock. You are a sub, as much as you hate to admit it, and I am a Dom. Couldn’t be a more perfect situation.’

‘I could be the Dom.’

John smiled. ‘You can’t just pretend to be dominant.’

‘I could try and be a switch.’

This time the doctor laughed. ‘You don’t need to try to be anything, Babe. If you weren’t submissive, we couldn’t be in a relationship long-term, could we?’

‘I know. It has been nice though.’

‘It has, but it’s been more than 7 weeks. Neither of us can hold out much longer.’

‘Has this got anything to do with my brother?’

‘Mycroft? What? Why?’

‘John…’

‘He mentioned it while you were away, yes, but I think that had more to do with the fact that I mentioned it to Greg and those two are closer than either of them like to let on. Once again the whole sub and Dom thing works perfectly.’

‘But that is what I am saying. Lestrade’s a sub in a position of authority.’

‘But everyone knows he is a sub. He’s not pretending to be dominant. People respect him because he worked his way up the ranks despite not being able to wave a Dom badge around. Not only that, he is bloody good at his job and a bloody good man.’

‘Well…’

‘No, Sherlock, no. He is. He put up with you long before I was around.’

‘Because he needed me.’

‘Do you know what he said to me when you got in that cab with that serial killer all those years ago?’

The detective frowned. ‘Of course I don’t. I wasn’t there was I? I was being murdered… at least he seemed to think so.’

‘Well to be honest, Sherlock, you seem to be able to read everything else with one glance at me.’

The corner of the younger man’s mouth tugged up slightly.

‘He said to me that you were a great man. He seemed to think that one day you could be a good one. That convinced me that you were more brilliant than you had already shown me, the snide comments aside. You owe that man a lot more than you give him credit for.’

Sherlock’s head lowered in a way that reminded John about the main aim of the conversation in the first place. It was the first thing that his boyfriend had done in the few weeks since his return that actually reminded the older man he was submissive.

‘I like how it is,’ Sherlock said again. He was repeating himself and realised he sounded needy; he kind of liked it, but he wasn’t about to tell the doctor that.

‘I know, Babe, but we’re not built on vanilla terms are we? It’s not how the world works. You need to find subspace. It will allow you to calm and relax and no doubt make cases easier on you and everyone else that has to deal with your showing off. I also need to find my own headspace to be able to help you better.’

‘I don’t need you to dominate me. Why can’t you help me as a boyfriend? Isn’t that what they do?’

‘You’re still my boyfriend, Sherlock, but relationships after the age of 18 are Dominant/submissive.’ John could understand Sherlock’s annoyance at the situation. They had been doing so well for the few months since his return when it came to a relationship that a teen would have, but he could feel the nagging need to Dom him getting worse and worse daily. God knows what it was like for the sub, given the fact their feelings were amplified a lot more when it came to their headspace.

‘Why? Why though? Why do things have to be difficult?’ He sounded like a child, but not a whinging child, one that was confused.

‘Things will only be difficult to start with, I promise you it’ll get easier, but you need to accept your submissive role in this relationship and I need to accept my own role.’

Sherlock sighed. ‘Alright, yes. I knew it would come to this, but can you at least kiss me first?’

The doctor was more than happy to oblige his detective. ‘So are we going to try?’ he asked, pulling back for breath.

The detective nodded, but then opened his mouth as a though struck him.

‘Sherlock, before you say anything, I know taking you on like this will not be easy, but I have spent the last 2 years waiting for you, so we’ll make it work, okay?’

John thought into a great amount of depth how difficult this would be, especially with what had happened whilst Sherlock had been away, but decided it was totally worth it. He knew they couldn’t carry on the way they were. Both of them needed different things, Sherlock especially, needed to be dominated, but John had to work out more exciting ways to prove it, knowing the detective would just claim they were _boring_ and _dull_. The most important thing was limits. That would be one of the first things they needed to figure out together, but first, Sherlock needed to accept this and he had a horrible feeling he was going to have to be a mean, grumpy soldier man to make it work.

‘Yes, John,’ Sherlock sighed. He noticed the change in the doctor, the more rigid stance he took, the stern expression.

He had long since blocked off what had happened to him in Serbia, the only place he had actually been caught. He had been tired and longed for home, stupid mistake running rather than hiding. He had seen a lot in other places, but Serbia had definitely been the worst. He had locked it all away in a room right at the back of his Mind Palace, but he knew that certain thoughts/activities/memories would reawaken them. However the normal talking thing John seemed so fond of was still irritating and wasn’t part of the John that he had missed and longed to see every day of his _holiday_.

John arched an eyebrow, the stern expression not shifting with the movement.

Sherlock glared back at him.

‘Come, now, Sherlock. You don’t need your deductive skills to know what I am after.’

With no response from his sub, John’s whole demeanour changed even more. His back got that little bit straighter and his chin lifted up, Captain Watson well and truly setting in, something he hadn’t felt happen in a long time and something he wished he didn’t have to use for the younger man. He just loved him too damned much!

Sherlock realised a bit too late that this was the only John he was going to see for a while. He couldn’t help but be disappointed at that, but John had no doubt spent the last 2 years working this out.

The Dom cleared his throat. ‘Here is what is going to happen, Sherlock. You are going to undress, then you are going to take the handcuffs that you conveniently nicked from Greg that are still in the drawer, willingly cuff your hands together, then you are going to kneel beside my chair, not touching it, with your hands behind your head.’ John was sure by now that all of the sub’s injuries that he had endured were, if not fully healed, then nearly.

Sherlock glared angrily at him.

‘Or I will just leave you alone.’ His tone was sharp like steel.

The look of horror on Sherlock’s face told the Dom he was being cruel, but it was the only way he could get his detective to even consider complying. He didn’t want to be cruel, in fact he hated the idea, he wanted nothing more than to snog him senseless, but he had to be, if not for himself then for Sherlock.

He watched as the detective dejectedly stalked from the room.

 

Sherlock sat down in his chair. _His_ chair. He hadn’t realised how much he could miss something so simple, so _sentimental_. Missing John was one thing, he had always been aware of the attachment there, but attachment to a chair? An inanimate object? Once again his brother’s words were flashing through his mind about sentiment and how irrelevant it was to life. How wrong he was.

He sat and thought about what John had said about needing this. He did. He knew he did. The need for subspace was strong, almost too strong for him to keep fighting. Without realising he had done it, his hand reached out for the drawer handle and he soon found his hand idly stoking over the contents until it rested on Lestrade’s cuffs.

The argument between doing what he wanted and what John wanted played out in his head. It took him half an hour before he fell to his knees beside his Dom’s, _his_ , chair, the detective’s submissive side finally taking over.

John had been clever with the cuffs. They weren’t a reminder of Serbia as they had been big, chunky manacles, but he had been clever in other ways too. It was one thing for the Dom to do it, for him to take that bit of freedom. It was another for him to take it from himself and hand it over. Either way, with shaky fingers he cuffed his wrists together, making the ratchet part as loose as possible.

John waited in the bedroom, more than aware his sub wouldn’t immediately obey. This was the first day of many, after all. If he didn’t know Sherlock and the sort of man he had become, compared to the sort of man he was when he first met him, he wouldn’t have bothered with all the additional effort that was needed. For all his thoughts, _I’m not gay_ , there had always been something between him and the other man, something too obvious to ignore forever.

He stood up and headed to the door as slowly and quietly as he could. Sherlock would hopefully be deep in his Mind Palace by now, but John needed to see what he was doing, if only to check on him. The cuffs might have been pushing it as it had taken a while for him to open up sexually. He couldn’t blame the man after what he had been through, but he had to at least try. If he wasn’t happy with the idea of the cuffs, he wouldn’t use them and would just be knelt with his hands behind his neck.

He figured that appearing at the door would be too obvious, so grabbed the mirror from the unit. He was sure it wasn’t Sherlock’s. It looked like Mrs. Hudson. Maybe the detective had nicked it for an experiment or a case years ago and had never been bothered to give it back. He rested it against the side of the door frame and moved so he could sit against the wall and watch the- his detective. He smiled at his ingenious plan and settled down to watch as Sherlock fought an internal war with himself.

He could, being the Dom in this relationship, end this. He could walk out there, grab him by his gorgeous curls and drag him from the chair he had settled in and force him to his knees, all the while cuffing him and forcing his hands behind his head, but Sherlock needed to want this. He had accepted that he needed to submit, but he would have to earn a collar, if it came to it.

John continued to watch as Sherlock routed through the drawer with one hand, not even realising he was doing it. He then proceeded to stare at the cuffs once he had extracted them from the hiding place. If he was more with it, he would have been more than aware that John was watching him, but he seemed oblivious as after nearly 30 minutes, he dropped to his knees. It was quicker than he had expected, if he was honest, but he wasn’t about to tell the sub that.

 

The doctor took a deep breath and made his way into the sitting room.

There was none of Sherlock’s usual grace with the way he was knelt. He was sat back on his heels, slouched over, not bolt upright like he usually was. His hands, even though were at his neck and he had cuffed himself, John could see how clever he had tried to be by leaving them as loose as possible and he knew for a fact that Sherlock could be Houdini at times and would easily be able to get out of them. His elbows were tucked right in, as he tried to make himself small. His clothes had been thrown around haphazardly and the doctor couldn’t help but smile. Sherlock couldn’t see though as he was staring at the floor, he was sure it was through arrogance and stubbornness rather than respect and submissiveness.

Sherlock had made an effort to do what his Dom had instructed, but at the same time was doing everything he could to be openly defiant. Clever, if a little predictable.

‘You’ve been away 2 years, back for 2 months… are you trying to wind me up?’

Sherlock shot him a look which clearly said he was boring him.

‘Fine.’

The doctor spun on his heel and ran up the stairs to his old room. He’d moved some of his stuff about and cleared out a fair bit when Sherlock had been away, but he had made sure to keep his cane. He scooped it up and raced back into the sitting room. Surprisingly, Sherlock hadn’t moved.

His eyes widened fractionally at the cane and John didn’t fail to notice.

‘Limit Sherlock?’ he asked cautiously. ‘You aren’t being punished.’

‘No,’ he mumbled. It had obviously just caught him by surprise, but John suspected if it was used for punishment it would at least be something on his soft limit.

‘Good.’ John walked towards him and the kneeling man flinched. ‘Say red and the cane goes away, but hear this Sherlock: I want a valid reason why you don’t want it out.’

Without saying another word, he walked around behind him and began tapping lightly at his arse. Sherlock shot him a glare over his shoulder and he hit slightly harder and harder until he flinched away and knelt upright.

Then the doctor prodded the end of the cane to Sherlock’s hands and nudged them up so they were behind his head rather than his neck and in doing so, his elbows straightened out.

The fact that, so far, the detective hadn’t moved back or said a word spoke volumes and John continued to shift and edit his position. He squeezed the cuffs, not tight enough to cut off the circulation, but enough that he hoped he wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of them.

Next, he tapped the inside of his thighs. His legs were so close together that he couldn’t hit one without hitting the other and eventually Sherlock spread his legs and the flush that made its way up his chest was gorgeous.

‘Embarrassed, Sherlock?’ John asked.

‘No, Sir,’ he answered, barely audible.

The Dom nearly smiled. It was so close to the perfect answer. ‘Rule one, Sherlock. You don’t lie to me.’

Sherlock glared up at his lover.

‘Your flush is evidence that you are embarrassed, Sherlock. So you lied to me. That will be the last time you ever do. Lying implies you can get away with it and that you are willing to get away with it. That should not be the case. You should want to be punished and satisfied that I am no longer angry with you, okay? That is how it goes. You mess up, I punish you, you learn your lesson and I forgive you. Because I will, Sherlock. I will always forgive you. Clear?’ John let a hand drop on his head.

He nodded and the Dom tightened his hand in his curls.

‘Yes, Sir,’ he said softly.

‘Good boy.’ He relaxed his grip and felt Sherlock sigh lightly beneath him. It was a relaxing sigh rather than an angry one.

John surveyed Sherlock once more. ‘If I want you in position, Sherlock, this is the position that you will take. I will not make you kneel there long unless you are in trouble. I am not a strict Dom but I can be and there will be only a slight difference to us as friends when we are out in public. The slight difference being, you will walk beside me rather than 3 paces ahead and you will not step out of my sight.’ He paused to glare at the detective when he was about to argue before continuing. ‘That is not me being petty, but because I worried enough about you years ago. That won’t happen again, not now that I have some authority over you. However, I will not make you kneel or walk 2 steps behind every time we go outside, but if I do ask you to kneel, you will because there will be a good reason. I will also require respect, Sherlock, something I know you are not great at.’

‘I’m trying,’ he mumbled.

‘I know,’ John said, his tone slightly softer. ‘And that is good, but at any point that you are not, I will not hesitate to remind you. Now many people use red and yellow for their safe words, but as this is clearly not a one off I want you to pick one.’

‘Why?’ John raised an eyebrow and the detective smiled slightly. ‘Sir. Why, Sir?’

‘Because red and yellow lack the personal touch.’

‘No. Why do we need a safe word at all?’

‘Sherlock…’

‘No. I don’t need one. I feel safe with you.’

‘I’m glad. As I feel safe with you. But that is not the point.’

‘You’re not like other Doms. You won’t push too far.’

‘I would never do something to deliberately hurt you, Sherlock,’ the doctor clarified.

‘I know,’ Sherlock agreed. ‘It is why it has taken us 3 months to get this far.’

‘However, that doesn’t mean I won’t unintentionally go too far.’

‘You won’t, John,’ Sherlock sounded bored. ‘This whole safe word thing is pointless.’

‘You will use it if you’re uncomfortable with some we are doing. Understood?’

The detective didn’t respond.

‘Pick a word, Sherlock.’

When no response was forthcoming, John headed off into the kitchen again.

Sherlock couldn’t believe this. He had done everything his boyfriend wanted and now he just left him there.

‘John! I did what you wanted and you’re just going to leave me here?’

Seeing as he hadn’t moved and the Dom hadn’t demanded he stay quiet, he used it to his advantage. John ignored him and went through to the bedroom for a moment.

It was well over an hour later, John had returned and was in his seat reading the paper, his tea mug was empty and nothing else had been said between them.

‘Vatican cameos,’ Sherlock whispered when he could barely stay upright. It had taken him way too long to realise what the Dom wanted.

Immediately the doctor was on his feet. He’d been watching out of the corner of his eye and could see the detective was wavering, had been for a while. It was taking the ‘genius’ a rather long time to work out what the Dom wanted. All he had to do was pick a word that John would know when he couldn’t handle anymore.

He released his wrists and slowly helped him to lower his hands over his head, shoulders shouting protests. John rubbed them and got the circulation flowing fully again. Sherlock fell forward into the Dom, muttering an apology.

The doctor helped him over to the chair and the younger man immediately curled around him, holding on tight.

‘Point proven, I hope?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ Sherlock said and for the first time that evening John heard respect in his sub’s voice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's still interested in this fic, you have Sherlockian4evr to thank. 
> 
> Could you guys comment? I'm unsure about finishing this one

John had made a point to cuddle with his new sub for many hours until he was snoring softly. 

He watched him, with his hand in his curls, pushing through them softly. He'd let him sleep for a while, but not too long. 

Just as he was trying to talk himself into nudging him awake his eyes flickered open. 

"Sherlock?"

The detective frowned. "I'm in your lap."

"Very observant."

He pushed himself to the seat beside the doctor rather than on top of him. 

"How're your shoulders feeling?"

"Fine." He made a point of rolling them. "You have a doctor's touch."

"I do indeed. Now you're awake we need to go through your limits."

"I don't want to. I'm comfy here." He tried to snuggle into the Dom's shoulder, but John pushed him upright again. 

"I'm sorry, babe, but it's unavoidable."

Sherlock huffed, choosing not to reply. 

John ignored the rudeness for now, but he wouldn't if it continued. "Right, so the cane is a soft limit, yes?"

The detective, glanced from his lap to the Dom and then rolled his eyes. Wasn't that obvious? He hadn't run away from it earlier, he hadn't-

"Don't roll your eyes at me, boy!" John barked, suddenly strict. Boy? Where had that come from?

Sherlock jerked back in surprise. He didn't like John using that tone of voice. It made the whole situation more surreal somehow. 

John had decided before he brought up the topic of forming a contact with the younger man that he would accept a certain amount of Sherlock's attitude, but plain rudeness when it could be avoided… those sorts of things would change. Those things needed to change. 

"I think you should apologise." His tone was a warning and he knew the sub saw it as such. He made a point to turn and look at him. "Apologise and I'll make this limits discussion a lot less dull for you."

Sherlock licked his lips and then averted his eyes in the direction of the floor. He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. John. Sir."

"Try again."

"I'm sorry, sir," he swallowed, "for being rude." 

At that response John leant over and kissed him. "Good, pet."

Sherlock smiled into the kiss, letting the Dom take control of it. He was rather proud of himself for earning that bit of praise, even though moments ago he was being chastised, John had been right. Do something wrong, punishment, lesson learned, be forgiven. 

"Right," John clapped his hands together, "here's how this is going to work. You are going to turn and face the wall in your position, without complaint. I am going to move all of my toys to your bedroom from mine. When I've done that, you will go upstairs, for half an hour, you can do whatever you want while you are there. When you come back down you can probably even deduce what is going to happen, so crawl to the corner and stay knelt, call me if something's up."

"Yes, sir," Sherlock whispered. 

After nearly 10 minutes and several trips up and down the stairs, each time poking his head in to check on his detective, he was nearly knackered. He was most surprised to see that Sherlock hadn't moved. He clearly knew what was good for him at the moment. 

"Upstairs then, pet," John called from the door way. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, smiling lopsidedly. "What?" He asked softly, seeing the look on his face. He stepped into the room, moving towards the younger man. 

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet and allowed the hug to happen when the doctor engulfed him. "Pet, John? Really?"

The blond just laughed, it was definitely new. "Do you want a cuppa before you go upstairs?"

Sherlock nodded and made his way to the kettle, flicking it on and dealing with the two mugs, knowing without asking his new Dom, that he would have one.

***

While the detective was upstairs, John hid everything out of view completely. He made a list on his phone, noting down everything he owned and where it was so he wouldn't lose anything. 

Satisfied, he walked to the bottom of the stairs to his old room and called up them.

Sherlock, once he had made his way down the stairs, dropped to his knees by John's chair, much to his surprise. The action alone earned him a kiss. "Good boy," the doctor cupped his cheek before straightening up again. He paced up and down a few times before turning on his sub and smiling. 

"Ok, pet, a little game. There are many items around, hidden, obviously. They don't go up the stairs, but anywhere else in the flat is completely free for you to move around in. You know in your Mind Palace what the flat looked like before so the differences should be easy to note. You're going to find them and tell me what you think. Whether you've tried it before, whether you liked it or not. I'm not really expecting any of these things to be a hard limit for you, but if they are then that's fine. There are also sometimes more than one because they change in size or variation, ok?"

Sherlock seemed to be quite excited by the idea and nodded freely. 

The doctor settled himself in his armchair and ran his hand through Sherlock's curls, soothingly. He felt his boy vibrating with energy and a need to get going. 

Confused at the sudden touch, Sherlock remained still, but he wanted nothing more than to see what sort of things John had hidden. 

"Some are at waist height and below," the blond continued, "those ones you can only find on your knees, ok?"

He nodded and John opened his mouth to get a verbal response, but the excitement in Sherlock's eyes stopped him, he was happy, distracted from the last few years and actually working with him, they could focus on the pedantic bits later. 

"Yes, there is a lot, your brother helped me replenish my stock while you were away."

Sherlock was like a coiled spring and John knew he wasn't likely to get anything else out of the younger man. 

"Go on then." He pushed his head away playfully and crossed one ankle over the other, ready to observe. He chuckled as Sherlock shuffled off, or rather, scarpered off. He went straight to one corner. 

The first thing he returned with was a collection of rope, there was a few bundles, different colours and strengths. 

"Well? Soft or hard? Or neither?"

"Er… sort of."

John shook his head slightly, 'er' coming from the detective couldn't be good.

"Sort of how?" He asked. 

"I like the soft stuff."

"Ah, but the rough stuff you dont?" He might have to talk to Sherlock about the rough stuff another day, this was just a basic list of limits, but he enjoyed suspension and that meant using the strong rope. 

He nodded. 

"That's ok. Whatever you feel about all of this is ok, Sherlock, alright?"

The kneeling man glanced up as if expecting a trick.

"Put the rope you don't like by the door and make a separate pile for the stuff you do."

When he turned around, John reached out and placed a hand on his head, Sherlock froze.

"You don't need to worry, Sherlock. We'll discuss most of the stuff here, whatever pile it's in."

The detective nodded once and crawled off towards the next area of the flat that had changed. 

This time when he returned, he bought with him a pair of soft leather cuffs.

"What do you think?" The doctor asked when Sherlock put them on the floor in front of him. 

"I… I…" Sherlock blushed. "Like them, sir, I think."

He examined them with fascination, they were much different than the sturdy metal cuffs that he had been so familiar with in his travels. 

With Holmsian precision, the doctor deduced what his boy was thinking and got to his feet. He went straight into the bathroom and returned with a pair of metal handcuffs. The usual police issue sort, likely the ones Sherlock had pick pocketed from their favourite DI. 

He placed them in the 'no' pile. "Am I right?"

Sherlock smiled weakly, nodding, but not taking his gaze from the soft cuffs on the floor. 

"Do you want to try them on?" The Dom offered. 

Sherlock's gaze finally moved from the floor and up to John. 

"Can I?"

"Of course you can, pet."

Sherlock ignored the pet comment and instead held his wrists out for the older man. John took one hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed his wrist before slipping one cuff snugly around it and buckling it up. He did the same to the other and waited for Sherlock's reaction. 

They felt warm and soft as the fur rubbed over his skin, and Sherlock almost purred. John studied him a moment and realised how much of a turn on that noise was coming from sherlock. 

"C-can I leave them on?" Sherlock's voice broke him from his distracting thoughts. 

"Of course." John wasn't surprised he had asked, given the expression on his face. 

Sherlock didn't know how to word it, he had never felt this way before, even after the last couple of months he felt… safe. Properly safe, for the first time since…well, since Mycroft had left home when he was 16. 

John ruffled the detective's curls, bringing him out of reminiscing. "Go on, 'Lock. Find the next thing."

Things progressed relatively slowly, Sherlock taking his time with each item, though he found the majority fairly easily. 

He had paused at one specific item that had definitely caught his attention, he knew there was more about somewhere, but this one looked… different. 

"Is this what I think it is?"

John's eyebrows rose. "Depends what you think it is."

"But it's glass."

"Do you like it?" He ignored the statement in favour of a question. 

Sherlock nodded, slowly, cautiously. "It's um… you wouldn't leave me on my own with it though, would you?"

John pushed himself out of his chair to land on his knees in front of the detective.

"I would never leave you on your own when we are playing, Sherlock. If there's any toys involved in punishment, I wouldn't leave you then either. It's dangerous, for a start, anything could happen if you reach subspace, or even 'drop."

"That's not what Seb said," the detective replied softly. 

"What did Seb say?" He felt like punishing the bloke he had never met already. 

"That I was meant to be on my own if I reached it, made it better apparently." 

John didn't need to ask what 'it' was. 

Sherlock shivered slightly at the memory. "I didn't like it, I would always come back to myself and be alone. I learnt to hold off after a while, then we split up."

***

After that, there wasn't that many items left for Sherlock to find, he'd located a straight jacket, which he had found rather amusing and had created a third pile of 'unsure' for. He had found many different gags, some he hadn't liked and immediately gone in the dislike pile, such as the muzzle shaped gag. 

He had found headphones and deduced their purpose immediately. He hadn't liked the idea of what they would be used for and they'd gone straight into the dislike pile. It wasn't difficult for John to work out why. 

There was a large assortment of dildos, plugs and vibrators, of which he was sure he hadn't found the last of. All of them had been fine and had made the ok pile all the more larger. Anal beads had been a surprise, but there wasn't anything evil looking about them. They'd joined the same pile. 

There were several types of clamps, and a set of pegs. The pegs had gone into the ok pile as had the majority of clamps except the ones with vicious looking teeth, he had been tempted to throw those out the window. 

The sound equipment confused him, but he had never seen it before, let alone experienced it. The cock cage was a different matter. He didn't like the look of it much, but it definitely didn't scare him and he knew he couldn't convince John that it did so he placed it in the ok pile with the sounding equipment. He would give that a go. 

The crop he had liked, but the flogger was a definite no. The real problems didn't occur until the last few items in the bedroom were left for Sherlock to find and for which John hadn't thought twice about. 

"What's the matter?" The doctor asked from the bedroom doorway. Sherlock had been taking too long so he had got up to investigate. 

He found the sub sat on his knees staring at the few items he had pulled out from under the wardrobe and from the top shelf. 

"N-nothing, sir," the detective replied quickly, admonishing himself for the stutter. He couldn't show weakness. Not for something so simple, so basic as a blindfold. The leather hood he was trying to ignore. 

John could immediately imagine the thoughts rushing through Sherlock's head, he slipped into the room, unnoticed by the kneeling man until he was snatching up the hood and blindfold. He tossed them on the bed and then held out his hand. 

When Sherlock cautiously took it, he tried tugging the sub to his feet, using words for a better response. 

"Come on, babe, on your feet. That was the last of it anyway. We need to talk now, I think."


	7. Chapter 7

It had been over a month since they'd sat and discussed Sherlock's limits. The doctor had been surprised at how well behaved he had been. It was quite a change moving from friends, to boyfriends, to a proper relationship. 

However, every sub would eventually slip up, that included Sherlock. And because it was Sherlock, the slip up was monumental. 

***

"In!" John barked pointing at the cab he had hailed at the side of the road. 

"John-"

"Address me properly, Sherlock! And. Get. In. The. Cab!"

With a worried glance aimed at his angry Dom the detective ducked his head and scrambled into the cab. The doctor was glad he was scared, he bloody well should be. 

John turned back to the DI. "I apologise, mate. Really, I do. I thought he had grown out of this sort of shit."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later with him, mate, I wouldn't worry. I'll deal with things here. You deal with him."

The DI heard John's heavy sigh from 20 yards away. "Good luck!"

John inclined his head and climbed into the cab next to Sherlock. 

"No!" John snapped, seeing him on the seat, "Baker Street, please," he said through the gap in the seats to the driver. Once they'd pulled out into traffic, he pointed to the floor beside the door Sherlock was closest to, "You, kneel there." Once he had fallen from the seat to his knees, John made himself comfortable on the other side. 

"John-"

"Enough, Sherlock! You will not speak and you certainly will not speak without the necessary respect!"

The rest of the journey in the cab was tense. 

Sherlock struggled to not start a conversation - to explain. Explain why he had openly defied his Dom and gone back to the crime scene anyway. He didn't know how he would explain or what he could say, but John had only been angry half an hour and he hated it already. 

When the cab pulled up in Baker Street and John paid, Sherlock began to draw the conclusion that John wasn't just angry, he was seething. 

The doctor unlocked the door to the flat and shoved Sherlock towards the stairs. 

"Coat off."

Sherlock did what he was told and hung it on the hook at the side of the stairs. 

"John-"

"Save it, Sherlock! Room!"

"But, John I-"

"What have I told you about respect?" John snapped, pissed off with repeating himself. 

He turned, grabbed Sherlock by his hair and dragged him to the kitchen. With a pointed glare, he turned to the unit where he had discarded his collar. 

"I'm going to think again about letting you take this off for cases!" He clipped it slightly tighter than normal around his sub's neck before looping a finger trough the D ring at the front, dragging him back through the kitchen and straight into their bedroom. 

"Strip!" He barked. 

Seeing the Dom meant it, Sherlock very quickly stripped out of all his clothes, his collar a sharp contrast to his pale skin. 

John grabbed him by his curls again and took him to the clear corner. 

"This is your punishment corner. This is where you will stay," John said simply.

"You're just leaving me here?"

"I'm angry, Sherlock! If you know what's good for you, you'll remain in your position, complete position! And you will not move a muscle."

"But you're leaving-"

John grabbed Sherlock's arm, twisted it up his back and pushed him into the wall, the detective grunted in surprise. 

"Do you know what, Sherlock, I am beyond angry with you, I'm fucking furious. The last thing I'm going to do is punish you when I am like this. Now kneel. You can earn walking back later."

Sherlock sniffed, starting to get a little upset. 

"Kneel, I said!" John's voice rose in pitch. 

When the Dom released his arm, Sherlock knelt, truly letting the idea of punishment seep in for the first time. 

John left the room, returning with a set of stolen handcuffs. He dangled them in front of him the kneeling man, hoping to make a point. 

The detective looked up, in shock.

"I said complete position, boy."

Sherlock nodded slowly, taking the cuffs from the doctor's hand. 

"I am going to say this now and I am only going to say it once. Your safe word still applies, use it and I will stop, but I will go upstairs to let you calm down, unless you are in subspace."

John could see the cogs working and knew he was contemplating it just to get out of punishment. 

"And if I think you are using it just to get out of punishment with no real fear or apprehension, Sherlock, you will regret it."

The submissive part of Sherlock would want to be punished just so he felt repentant. But neither of them were thinking rationally.

After half an hour of Sherlock knelt silently in the corner, John moved over to him. He was most surprised his boy hadn't complained at all. He found a slight tremble in the detective's legs, but he ignored it, however; comfort would be given later. He hooked his lead onto the back of the collar and tugged it sharply causing Sherlock to topple onto his side, before righting himself on his hands and knees. 

John tugged him all the way out into the sitting room where the case notes had been thrown and everything else Sherlock had said was dull and boring over the last 6 hours. It was increasingly difficult for the detective to keep up with John's rather larger than normal strides because of his still cuffed wrists, however he managed to find a quick rhythm where he could keep up with his Dom and not stumble over his wrists even in the short space between their room and the trashed sitting room. 

"Position," John ordered, no give in his voice at all. 

Sherlock sat up away from his heels and rested his hands at his neck, extremely worried. He had never been punished by John before. He'd been scolded, more than once and at different levels, he had even been scolded before John even contemplated taking Sherlock on as a sub, but punishment- proper punishment hadn't happened. He didn't know what to expect, his previous experience when it came to this didn't give him a lot to go on, but they were unpleasant experiences at best. He forced them into his mind palace as much as he could to try and hide, more than aware it would last forever. 

"As you can see, Sherlock, this place is a bit of a well… shit pit, you are going to rectify that, you won't, however, get off your knees. You still haven't earned the right to walk. Naughty boys stay on the floor, where they belong, even so, ask me nicely and I might uncuff you."

Sherlock flinched, naughty? The one word alone made him sound like a school boy.  
Sherlock swallowed hard, his arms wavered slightly as he looked round the room.

"Here's what's going to happen, you're going to crawl around, pick up every single item on the floor and put it in its proper place. You will not argue and you will not complain."

Sherlock wanted the punishment over, he'd spent forever in the corner and now wanted to cuddle with his Dom. He didn't need more torture. 

"Yes, sir," he replied anyway. 

"Good boy."

Sherlock smiled at the brief praise, it meant more than John would know. 

"M-may I ask a question, sir?"

"You may."

"Can you uncuff me? Please?"

"Oh, Sherlock," John settled himself in his armchair. "You're going to have to try a little bit harder than that." He looked away from the rather confused detective in the middle of the living room.

Confusion on Sherlock's face was something that John revelled in. It happened so rarely that the impact to his groin got worse and worse the more it did.

Sherlock looked around the room, once more contemplating this chore, for want of a better word and whether he should start even with his hands chained together. He glanced at John who wasn't ignoring him as such he just wasn't paying him any attention. 

"Sir? I'm sorry," John looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. An apology from Sherlock was one thing, but it was almost sincere too. 

"I'll do a better job of tidying if you uncuff me sir,"

"And?"

"And I'll stay on the floor and behave."

"Come here."

Sherlock, awkwardly knee walked towards where the doctor was pointing. When he got there, he went to move his hands, but a quick glance in John's direction made him change his mind, so he instead settled himself in front of the Dom's armchair and got back into position. 

Sherlock waited for John to drop his hand in his curls or something similar, like he usually did, or even that annoying blowing his ear thing that he kind of liked. 

Instead John just reached forward and grasped his elbow to slip the key in the lock of the cuffs, letting him wriggle his wrists out. Then he nodded at the nearest book that was on the floor. 

"Get started then."

***

Over an hour later, Sherlock was still crawling around the flat, putting away the last of the junk he had thrown about when he had been immersed in the case. 

"Sir?" He whispered, kneeling up beside John's chair. 

The doctor's eyes flickered from his laptop, to his sub, and back again. 

He'd calmed considerably, but he didn't speak and he didn't look around the flat to see if Sherlock had done an adequate job. He just went back to his typing, leaving out the details of the detective breaking so many rules and laws throughout the last case. People didn't need to know that part. 

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Sir," he repeated louder. 

Still, John ignored him. 10 minutes past and Sherlock eventually slipped his hands behind his head, hoping that was why the doctor was blanking him. A further 2 minutes past before John looked up again. 

"Good boy."

"You've got the cane to contend with now."

"Sir-"

"No, Sherlock, be quiet."

"But am I not forgiven yet?"

"No. Go and fetch my cane."

Sherlock hated that part of the punishment, it was like the walk of shame, having to deduce where it was, then go and fetch it. He didn't know what was worse, trying to find the damn thing or the journey back to John with it.

"Move, boy!" John barked and that was the first Sherlock realised he hadn't moved away to do as he had been told.

"Sorry, sir," he whispered, scrambling to his feet and hurrying out of the room. He was sure the cane was on top of the wardrobe. 

He returned with it shortly and knelt beside John. He held it out tentatively, slowly, the doctor reached down and plucked it from his hands. 

"You'll have 6 with this."

Sherlock winced, the maximum he'd had with it before had been 2 and that had been because he'd been rude to his brother, the interfering sod that he was. 

"Yes, sir," he whispered. 

"Assume the position."

Cautiously, the sub got back to his feet and leant over the back of the doctor's chair. 

"You'll count and thank me, Sherlock."

"Yes, sir," he repeated. 

John nodded once and raised the cane, arm steady. He brought it down sharply and Sherlock bucked into the chair trying to lessen the impact, he didn't move in any other way and the only noise he let out was a quiet, "One, sir. Thank you, sir."

John let the next strike fall just below the previous, and the third just below that one. He kept up a steady pace, the detective counting and thanking him when he had to, but other than that he kept on top of his whimpers. 

After what felt like forever, John dropped the cane to the side and shook his arm and wrist out. He knew his boy would be more sore than he was, but it still ached. He was left handed and his injured shoulder would never be perfect. 

"I'm sorry, John- sir," Sherlock said softly after a few moments of silence. He wasn't doing a very good job of controlling his sobs, but not for want in trying. 

John dropped a brief hand on his shoulder, dusting his fingers around the collar, then he moved to put the cane back where Sherlock had got it from in the bedroom; Sherlock didn't move. 

"You can move now, Sherlock," John said, returning from the bedroom and spotting his sub holding himself stiffly over the armchair. 

John headed through to the kitchen and put the kettle on, gathering up the filthy mugs to wash out before making tea. 

Sherlock took a step back from the chair and, turning, dropped to his knees, facing the wall. Away from the rest of the room. Away from John. His head was low and he was sniffing quietly, his shaky arms up behind his head. He hadn't said a word other than those ordered throughout the entire ordeal. Despite the sting running across the back of his arse in numerous places, he tried to keep quiet, going as far as biting his lip. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing down there?" John presumed to think he was in subspace, but this wasn't usually what he was like. He was soft and floppy, not distant and hiding. 

His boy didn't reply so John placed the two mugs on the table and raised his voice. "Sherlock?!"

The kneeling sub jumped and looked up straight away, ignoring the cut in his lip from his gnawing. "S-sorry, sir," he stumbled. "I'll be quiet, sir, I promise. I'll t-try."

He looked back down again and shifted ever so slightly on his knees, trying to get comfortable, but failing. 

John was curious, but also worried, this was the first time Sherlock had been properly punished. Yes, John had sat him in the corner in the other room. Caned him. Or made him make the drinks for a change (which he despised more than John thought possible), but this was the first time that John had been properly angered in order to issue such a thorough punishment. 

"Um… ok, Sherlock, but why are you kneeling?"

"You don't want me to kneel, sir?"

"Not after that," the Dom shook his head, his brow furrowing. "You've been punished, now you get a cuddle."

"You're not angry…"

"Not anymore."

"But-"

"C'mon up on the chair."

"Can- am I allowed on my feet, sir?"

John smiled at that. "Good boy. Yes."

Sherlock watched John cautiously as the doctor settled himself in the armchair and then let him sit down. 

He brushed sweaty curls back away from his face. "Why did you kneel, Sherlock?" he asked after a while. 

"You had just punished ,me sir," Sherlock pointed out as if it was obvious, but his usual gruffness wasn't there.

"Yes. So?"

"You're meant to leave afterwards."

"Not when you're upset, Sherlock. I would never leave you after punishment. 

"I'm not upset."

The doctor just shook his head, not bothering to argue. He reached around the sub and grabbed up the mugs of tea from the table. He pushed one into Sherlock's hands. 

"Drink, babe, you're forgiven, just never ever do that to me again."

"Yes, sir," he loved the feel of John's hand in his curls and moved his head to rest against the older man's shoulder. 

It wasn't long before John was blowing in his ear.


End file.
